


Demon Boys (With Luv)

by SuperBlondie



Series: Real People Who Pissed Off Demons (And Paid for It) [5]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Biting, Demon!Jongdae, Demon!Yifan, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Growing Up, Humor, M/M, Marking, Referenced past character death, Referenced past child abuse, Smut, Soulmates, Supernatural - Freeform, Underage Drinking, demon!Qin Fen, if you read DAR you know what it's about, probably the lighest installment of this series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24337900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperBlondie/pseuds/SuperBlondie
Summary: Zitao has grown up being very, very familiar with the strange and unnatural. He's strange and unnatural himself, having been murdered at five years old and brought back to life forty years later.  He just wishes his boyfriend would get that through his thick skull and stop trying to gently hint that he's a demon and they're soulmates. Zitao figured that out three months ago, buddy, keep up.
Relationships: Han Mubo/Qin Fen, Huang Zi Tao | Z.Tao/Kim Jongdae | Chen, Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun, Kim Junmyeon | Suho/Wu Yi Fan | Kris
Series: Real People Who Pissed Off Demons (And Paid for It) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/905397
Comments: 201
Kudos: 297





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're back with another installment of Real People Who Pissed Off Demons! And it's finally time for everyone's favorite used-to-be-a-ghost baby boy, Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Zitao! I had meant to like........have his love interest be a secret until like he officially appears in this fic but I'm a dumbass and tweeted about it so if you didn't see my stupidity there, you can see it in the relationships above. Yeah we goin TaoChen lmaooo
> 
> Anyways!! Thank you guys for sticking w this series for like....damn near two years! I love this universe and WILL finish it (I've got this fic and then Kyungsoo's and then I think I'll be leaving it there). I only wrote the first chapter of this fic so far, so I don't know when it will be finished, but it will be finished!! (Also this chapter has been written for like almost a year and I never got around to posting it alsjfsa)
> 
> If you haven't read at least the first fic in this series...I would suggest you do as it's kinda necessary to understand most of the first chapter of this fic.
> 
> As always, a big thank you to [Aarushi](https://twitter.com/Aarushi_c18) for being the bestest beta in the whole wide world!! <333

Zitao wakes up and knows nothing but fear. He sits up, tears pouring down his face, and clenches his blanket tight in shaking fists. He tugs his blanket up higher and hiccups. His heart beats too fast and takes so much room in his body that there's not enough space for air. The room is dark except for his nightlight, but that's all the way on the other side of the room, not next to his bed anymore because the light made it too hard to sleep. He got too used to how dark Mama and Baba's room is, how nice it is to sleep between them where it's warm and safe.

Now, his room is too dark and it's not warm or safe. His room is  _ scary _ . Scary like his dream. His dream was dark too, dark except for candles and red, but not the good red like when Baba makes all the hurts go away for just a few hugs. It's the bad red, the stuff that Mama was covered in when he and Baba came home after the emergency, the stuff that came out of his own belly in his dream.

His dream was real though. Baba said dreams are real sometimes, when they're memories. This was a memory, the lady he used to call Mama put him in that circle and took the knife and then there was so much red and it hurt  _ so bad _ . 

Zitao doesn't like remembering it. He doesn't like that memory. He doesn't like remembering how he died. 

How Mama and Baba almost died. No one wanted to tell him, but he listens when they think he's watching TV or drawing. He knows that someone took a knife to Baba and Mama; he saw the blood and the way Baba kept looking at Mama and crying because Mama wouldn't wake up. 

Zitao cries, buries his face in the blanket, and screams.

"What's going on? I heard noises. Are you okay," Zitao looks up as the door opens, light from the hallway spilling so brightly, and Baba is there. His eyes are still mostly shut and he's leaning on the door like he'll fall over, but Baba is  _ here _ . Baba's here and Zitao knows he is safe.

Baba sees his face and sighs. He takes big steps to Zitao's bed and drops down to kneel beside it, lets Zitao wrap his arms around his neck and cuddle in close. "Tao, baby, what happened? Why are you crying?" Baba kisses Zitao's cheek and forehead. 

Zitao hiccups as the tears stop and Baba shushes him sweetly. It feels good, feels safe. Nothing's scary when Baba and Mama are here; they're the strongest people in the entire world. Whenever he feels sad or mad or scared, he can just go to them and they'll make the bad things go away. They always do.

So Zitao tucks his face against Baba's neck and whispers, "Bad dream. The bad night, with the circle. When Mama wasn't there to save me."

Uncle Yixing tries to say that  _ Baba _ was the one who saved Zitao that night, because it was his powers that brought him back to life, but Baba says it was Mama who asked him to. Mama says that Baba feels bad about not saving him the first time so he doesn't want the credit. 

Zitao understands though, it wasn't Baba's fault. Zitao was stuck inside the circle and Baba was stuck on the outside, but Baba was right there when Zitao woke up and they played for a long, long time until Mama came. Zitao thinks he would've been very, very lonely if Baba wasn't there.

"There was blood and the lady was there but you and Mama weren't there."

Baba was there though, and he's here now, holding Zitao close and rocking him like a baby. He makes soft sounds and covers Zitao in kisses and tries to chase away the bad dreams. It's easier when he gets to sleep in Mama and Baba's bed, when they're right there as soon as he wakes up and he doesn't have time to be scared before they're making him feel better. 

He wants to go sleep with them now. Tonight's the first night he's supposed to start sleeping in his room because it's been two weeks and the scar on Mama's tummy is almost all better and Baba's not so scared of the doorbell anymore. 

Mama and Baba are better, so Zitao needs to get better too. He needs to start sleeping in his room like a big boy, only in Mama and Baba's room on the weekends for movie time. But he doesn't want to, he wants to sleep in their room. 

He tells Baba and Baba sighs again, squeezes him closer, and gives him another kiss on the forehead. "How about I sit with you until you fall asleep, huh," he asks, "I'll shut the door and stay right here until you fall back asleep. That sounds good, right?"

"No," Zitao shakes his head. "I want to go sleep with you and Mama." He pouts just like he sees Mama do sometimes when he wants to get his way.

"I know you do, TaoTao, but you're supposed to be sleeping in your own room now. Mama and I can stay with you until you fall asleep and then come back if you have a bad dream, but you can't come sleep with us anymore for now." Baba rocks him back and forth as he talks  _ so  _ slowly. It makes Zitao feel sleepy. "I can stay with you though, help you fall asleep again. 

"And think about how you'll feel in the morning when Mama and I wake you up and see that you're  _ such  _ a big boy! We'll be so proud of you, our Taozi. Yeah, there you go, Baba's right here, you're safe, go back to sleep." 

Zitao feels himself start to tip backwards onto the bed. His head hits his pillow and his eyes snap open.

"No!" He clings to Baba's shirt and pulls himself back up, shakes all the sleepiness out of his head and starts to cry again. "I don't wanna be a big boy! I wanna go sleep with you and Mama! Please please please please! I'll be good and I won't hog the blankets o-or anything! Promise! Don’t leave me Baba.  _ Please!" _

Zitao cries into Baba's chest. He's so scared of the dark and being alone and the dreams that wake him up at night. 

He promises to be good. He will be, he'll be  _ so  _ good if he gets to sleep in their bed tonight. He won't complain at all at his doctor's appointment tomorrow, not even if he has to get shots. 

Baba tries to shush him a few times, starts rocking him again, and then groans because Zitao won't stop crying. "Junmyeon's going to be so mad at me in the morning." Then Zitao is being lifted and Baba is standing up. "You're already a good boy, Taozi. You're such a good boy and I’m not leaving you. Would never leave you. You can come sleep with Mama and me, it's okay."

“Really?” Baba nods and carries him out of his room and across the hall. He lets Zitao flick off the hallway light. “Thank you thank you thank you! Love you, Baba!” He rubs his face against Baba’s shirt until all the tears are gone and there’s only little hiccups left.

Baba gives him a little squeeze and laughs quietly, “You don’t need to thank me. I’m taking care of you, that’s my job as a parent. But I love you too.” He sets Zitao down on the big bed. When he lifts the covers up, Zitao wiggles down underneath and looks back up at him with a smile. It’s dark, but he knows Baba can see it.

“Sweet Taozi,” Baba whispers and slides under the covers too, wraps Zitao up in a big hug and rubs his back. Zitao giggles because it’s ticklish and Baba shushes him. “Don’t wake Mama up, Zitao. You’re  _ sleeping  _ in our bed, not playing.”

“As far as I know he shouldn’t be doing either, Yifan.” Zitao rolls over and sees Mama’s face in the dark. “Zitao’s supposed to be sleeping in his own room.” 

“I had a bad dream,” Zitao says. And then he reaches for Mama for a kiss because Mama sounds like he’s not happy with Baba at all and kisses always make him feel better. Mama hums, still not happy, but pulls Zitao out of Baba’s arms for a kiss anyway. “I got scared and I wanted to sleep in your bed.”

“He was crying and started begging me, Junmyeon. He was just so  _ upset _ .” Baba scoots across the bed until Zitao’s stuck between Mama and Baba, right in the middle. Right where he wants to be. “What was I supposed to do? Tell him no? Leave him alone?”

“No, you were supposed to sit with him in his own bed until he fell back asleep,” Mama says, and he sounds so tired. “That’s what we agreed upon, Yifan, so that he’ll start to learn how to sleep in his own bed.”

Zitao yawns and rubs at his eyes. “But I like sleeping here.” He wonders if they can just stop talking and go to sleep, because Mama’s tired and he’s tired and he thinks Baba’s tired too. If they’re all tired they should just go to sleep. Sleeping is always better when it’s the three of them anyway, so maybe if they all just sleep right now Mama and Baba will realize that and not try to make him sleep in his own room anymore.

Baba leans over Zitao and kisses Mama on the mouth, wraps an arm around the both of them. It makes Zitao feel so safe, so warm, and so sleepy. He yawns again. "He lasted half the night, darling. I say it's more than enough progress.” 

There’s a little pause. Mama feels mad and Zitao knows he’s not happy because Baba let Zitao break the brand new rule. Zitao thinks it’s a pretty stupid rule, and he thinks Baba thinks so too, but it’s still one of Mama’s rules that  _ are not  _ supposed to be broken. Then Baba whispers, “He dreamed about  _ that _ night, with  _ her _ .” 

Mama sighs and then it’s all better again. He kisses Zitao on the forehead, pushes himself up a little to kiss Baba on the lips again, and flops back down onto the bed. “Oh honey,” he says, voice quiet and gentle like it was after he slept for the whole day, when Baba made Zitao be extra careful around his stomach, “That kind of dream, huh?” Zitao nods and smiles when Mama pets through his hair. “Fine, okay, fine, I give, you can stay.”

Zitao cheers and snuggles into the blankets. Mama and Baba whisper to each other, but he can’t hear it. He’s too busy floating, feeling nice, warm, and sleepy in the safest place in the whole world – between Mama and Baba where nothing can hurt him.

-

Lightning bugs flash right in front of Zitao’s face, blinking in and out of sight. He chases after them and tries to catch one between cupped hands, but they all fly away. He huffs as he brings his hands up to his face and peeks into the space between his fingers to find empty darkness. They're so hard for him to catch, always flying away at the very last second. He's nothing like Mama, who can bring his hands together and have like four or five lightning bugs sitting on his palm. But he's not like Kyungsoo either, who can barely even get his hands to come together in the first place.

A bunch of lightning bugs light up at the same time across the yard. Zitao sees the green and starts running; he's gotten faster since he started soccer last summer, fast enough that he can almost catch Mama during tag all on his own. He's fast enough to get to the lightning bugs before they all fly away again, at least.

“Tao, sweetheart, wait for your brother,” Mama calls from the front door. 

Zitao skids to a stop and nearly trips over his own feet. The glow stick around his neck swings up and almost hits him right in the eye. He looks over to see Kyungsoo and his glow stick toddling towards him as fast as his little legs can go. Which isn't very fast.

"Soo, let's go!"

"I'm coming! I'm coming," Kyungsoo yells back.

He knows it's not Kyungsoo's fault that he's so slow; he's only five and he's short for his age and if he's not wearing his glasses he can't really see where he's going. Zitao is twelve and pretty tall and he doesn't even  _ need  _ glasses so he can run circles around Kyungsoo. He did, once, but then Kyungsoo got upset and Baba said that Zitao was being mean and teasing his brother. He had to go to bed early that night and the next day he could only play with toys if he was playing with Kyungsoo.

His friends at school said that it was stupid and unfair that he got in trouble when Kyungsoo was the one being whiny, but he kind of understands. When they first got Kyungsoo, Baba sat down with Zitao and explained how important he was to Kyungsoo as his big brother. Big brothers protect and play - they do tease sometimes, but just a little because teasing can be fun if he's not trying to be mean.

Most things with Kyungsoo are fun, like LEGOs and video games and playing pretend with all their toys. Zitao would never ever tell his friends at school it, but he calls Kyungsoo his best friend all the time when it's just the two of them. 

It's usually only not fun when Zitao has to slow down and wait for him.

Kyungsoo catches up with Zitao eventually, panting and out of breath because he ran so fast. Zitao's a little out of breath too. It's so hot and sweaty outside, like the air's full of water. Mama says that's because of high humidity. Zitao doesn't really care  _ why _ it happens, just that it makes his skin feel sticky with sweat and the air harder to breathe. 

"So hot, Tao," Kyungsoo says. He sits down in the grass even though it makes his skin itchy. "So hot, too hot. Stupid lightning bugs." Zitao sighs and goes to pull him back up before he gets those little red bumps all over his arms and legs from where the grass touched him, but Kyungsoo flops backwards and spreads out like a starfish. He smiles really big, moves his arms and legs like he's making a snow angel. 

Zitao puts his hands on his hips and frowns. "Get up," Zitao pokes at Kyungsoo's belly with the toe of his shoe. Kyungsoo shakes his head and smiles wider, sighing about how cool the grass is. Zitao doesn't care how cool the grass is though, he wants Kyungsoo to  _ get up  _ because he doesn't like seeing him covered in that weird temporary rash. He grabs his little brother by the leg, "Get up or I'll drag you all the way across the yard."

Kyungsoo just smiles. The light from the glow stick around his neck is just bright enough for Zitao to see his face so he can see how Kyungsoo's eyes light up. "Do it! Do it, Tao! I want you to." 

"No way," Zitao says as he drops Kyungsoo's leg back to the ground, "just get up before Mama or Baba see you so you don't get in trouble and have to go back inside."

Zitao grins as Kyungsoo groans and pushes himself back onto his feet. He crouches down and wipes off some of the grass stuck to Kyungsoo's legs. He's a big brother, so he has to protect Kyungsoo from everything he can, including himself. 

When he's pretty sure he's gotten all the grass off, Zitao stands back up and takes Kyungsoo's hand. "So there's a big swarm of lightning bugs next to Mama's car. Do you see it? Yeah, where all the lights are. If we run over there really fast I think we'll be able to catch some of them." 

Kyungsoo nods, face scrunching up like it does when he's sounding out a new word or trying to color inside the lines. "On three," he asks. 

"Yeah," Zitao replies, "on three. One...two... _ three _ !"

Zitao takes off at a sprint towards the blinking green and yellow lights, Kyungsoo holding tight to his hand and running so fast that Zitao's actually a little impressed. They laugh as they skid to a stop in the middle of the swarm and wave their hands around. They're out of range of the porch light and the lightning bugs turn invisible when their lights blink out. Zitao doesn't even care that they're missing the bugs. He's having too much fun to get upset about the way the lightning bugs are flying away.

After a few seconds almost all the lightning bugs are gone and Zitao has to stop. He turns and watches Kyungsoo chase one particular lightning bug back towards the house, back to where Baba and Mama are laying out a blanket on the grass. They cheer for him as he runs with his hands out, the lightning bug blinking green. Zitao cheers too as he follows him back towards the house.

Kyungsoo gets closer and closer. He puts on an extra burst of speed and Zitao almost can't believe that his little brother is running so fast. "Watch, Tao, I'm gonna do it! Watch me!"

"I'm watching! Come on, catch it! You're so close!"

He is close. He's so close to the lightning bug and then he gets closer and closer, following it even as it changes directions and starts flying towards the street. Zitao jumps up and down, screeching as his heart thumps in his chest. The lightning bug is right between Kyungsoo's hands now. All he has to do is bring them together and he's got it.

Then he swings his arms and stops in the middle of the yard. "I got it," Kyungsoo yells, "it's in my hands! I can feel it!" Kyungsoo turns and stares at Zitao with big eyes, shaking his hands. "Tao, come look! We got a lightning bug!"

And Zitao runs across the yard because he has to go see if Kyungsoo's really caught the lightning bug. Standing completely still, Kyungsoo holds his hands out to Zitao with a big smile.

"Let me see, Soo, just open your hands up a little." Kyungsoo parts his hands just a little and Zitao leans down. He sees the blinking light in the darkness and shouts. "You got one! Baba, can we have a jar?"

"No, no jars. We're not keeping the lightning bugs," Baba calls back, "Catch and release, boys. See how many you can catch." Kyungsoo whines and Zitao looks back to see Baba just shrug. Mama shrugs too and Zitao knows they're not going to win this fight.

" _ Fine _ ," he groans. "Come on, Soo, I'll race you."

It takes a little bit to get excited - Zitao  _ really  _ wanted to have a lightning bug as a pet. Then he catches his own lightning bug and feels like that scary movie with the shark that Uncle Luhan let him watch. Blood in the water making all the sharks go crazy except Zitao and Kyungsoo would never hurt the lightning bugs.

He races Kyungsoo back and forth across the yard until they're sweaty, tired, and out of breath. It's a good tired though, the kind of tired that means he's going to sleep like the dead. He collapses onto the picnic blanket with heavy arms and legs. Kyungsoo's already there and mostly asleep in Baba's lap, head lolled back and mouth open.

Zitao doesn't lie down in Mama's lap because he's too big for that, twelve-year-olds don't sit in their parents' laps anymore, but he crawls across the blanket until he can rest his head on Mama's leg so he can get back scratches. 

Zitao looks up at Mama and smiles when he sees Mama smiling back at him. He's always thought Mama was one of the prettiest people in the entire world. Baba's pretty too and Mama always says how  _ handsome  _ he is when he thinks Zitao and Kyungsoo aren't listening. But Mama's just  _ pretty. _

Zitao hopes he'll be pretty like Mama when he's officially a grown up.

"Getting pretty late," Mama says. He pushes Zitao's hair out of his face and taps him on the nose. "I think it's time we take these two inside for the night." 

Zitao doesn't whine, because he's too big for that, but he does protest going inside. It's not so hot out now that it's late and he likes how the wind feels on his arms and legs. "I'm not that tired yet though! Tell us a story, Baba? Just one story, and then I'll go to bed, promise."

Mama and Baba share a look. Baba shrugs and Mama lets out a little sigh before leaning over and resting his head on Baba's shoulder. "Go ahead, love, one story won't hurt. Besides, I like hearing your stories too."

Baba grins, kissing Mama on the forehead and making Zitao gag. Kissing like that is so  _ gross _ . "You know, I think I have a story I haven't even told you yet, darling. It's about the time Yixing nearly got me arrested for treason. This is actually how I met Chanyeol too. I always forget about that part. Alright, so this all started in Korea near what is now Seoul..."

And because Zitao really is that tired, he's falling asleep before Baba can even finish explaining why he, Uncle Yixing, and Uncle Baekhyun were in Korea in the first place. 

"...I believe we were staying at an inn owned by a friend of Yixing's. I've told you about him before, I think, Jongdae?"

Zitao feels his body jerk like when someone accidentally gathers up a lot of static and touches him. He sees lightning behind his eyes, and then he's asleep.

-

It’s dark except for the candles. Zitao stares at the light they cast on the walls, flames flickering in the wind. He turns his head and sees that they’re the long, stick-like candles, the ones Mama doesn’t like. Mama only likes candles that come in jars with lids that are less likely to fall over and set the house on fire. But Mama isn’t here right now. He doesn’t know how he knows that, just knows that Mama’s not here right now.

It’s just the lady sitting on the other side of the circle –  _ the circle _ . The lady, the circle, the knife, the pain, the blood. Zitao is going to die.

Zitao gasps and tries to crawl away, but he can’t move his arms or legs. They’re held in place, wrapped tight with ropes that chafe and burn his skin. They’ll leave red marks behind on little wrists and ankles, but he keeps squirming anyway. He’s so small now, small and tied up on the living room floor. He cries big tears that roll down his cheeks and screams for help, he  _ screams _ .

Nobody hears him.

The lady starts to crawl across the floor with a knife in her hand. The candles reflect off her eyes. They’re empty, flat like the dead. They’re just like his own eyes reflecting the blue and red light spilling in through the window. He remembers a big hand coming down to stop him from seeing, remembers being carried out of the room before he could see too much.

The room starts to spin, flames roaring higher and higher and Zitao can’t move. He’s too small, too weak, too scared. His throat feels like it’s closing up and he can’t breathe, can’t do anything but squirm against the ropes and cry.

He cries as the lady crawls closer. Her mouth isn’t moving but he can hear her voice, hear all the words she screamed at him that night. It hurts, makes him cry harder because it’s all true. He’s useless, helpless, only good for dying.

Over her shoulder, he sees a tall man, so tall he can barely see his face from where he’s on the floor. He knows this tall man, knew him as the voice in the walls first, then as Yifan, the man who blew open windows and doors and tried to break the circle around Zitao and the lady. And then, after the circle broke and Zitao was pouring out so much red, the tall man pulled him away from his body and comforted him, kept him company and played with him and loved him. 

“Baba,” Zitao sighs. Baba is here and Zitao knows he’ll be okay. Baba would never let anyone hurt him.

The circle disappears and Zitao feels relief wash over him because if the circle is gone Baba can save him. It was the only thing keeping Baba out. The lady is kneeling over him with the knife, frozen in time. Zitao knows it’s because Baba stopped her. Baba is going to come and pick him up, carry him to Mama and Kyungsoo, make things all better. That’s what Baba does – he makes things better.

And then Baba turns around and walks away, disappearing out into the hallway. Zitao tries to call for him, but his voice won’t work. He just moves his mouth and squirms and tries to make Baba hear him without sound. Baba doesn’t hear him; or maybe he just doesn’t care.

Zitao doesn’t understand. This isn’t Baba; Baba doesn’t  _ leave _ . Zitao fights against the ropes until his wrists start to bleed, screams until his head hurts and his throat feels sore. He waits for Baba to come back because Baba  _ has to _ . Zitao loves Baba and Baba loves him. He knows it, hears Baba say it every single day. “Baba,” Zitao’s voice comes back and he begs, pleads,  _ screams _ , “come back! Don’t leave me! Baba, please! I love you, Baba!  _ Please! _ ”

But he doesn’t come back.

And the lady isn’t frozen anymore. Zitao looks away from where Baba had disappeared and sees his own death in her eyes just like he did that night. The knife comes down and it  _ hurts _ .

“Wake up! Wake up, Zitao, it’s just a dream!” Zitao opens his eyes to see Baba’s face, eyes wide with concern as he pulls Zitao into his lap. He can feel Mama’s hands on his back and in his hair. “We’re here, Taozi, it was just a dream. It can’t hurt you anymore, not when we’re here.” 

Zitao buries his face in Baba’s shoulder and  _ cries _ . Mama and Baba are  _ here.  _ They didn’t leave him.

“Of course not, Tao, we’d never leave you. We love you more than anything in this entire world,” Mama says and kisses his temple, voice so soft and gentle. Baba hums in agreement and rubs circles up and down Zitao’s spine.

Zitao cries harder, until the tears clog up his throat and every breath comes out as a sob. He feels small again, six years old and little enough that the whole world is a threat, that he can still be picked up and kept safe in his parents’ arms. He’s fifteen now, much too big to be carried around, but Baba’s arms tighten around him and rock him from side-to-side anyway. “Sweet Taozi, I could hear you screaming from downstairs. What happened in your dream?”

He stammers out what he remembers between sobs. It’s starting to slip away from him now that he’s awake, but he remembers the worst of it. He remembers how Baba walked away and wouldn’t come back no matter how hard he begged. 

“Sometimes I think about the afterlife and I hope there’s a special hell just for JiaJia,” Mama says. Zitao coughs out a laugh even as he turns his head and sees how unnervingly serious Mama is. “It’s been sixty years and it’s still one of the only things you have nightmares about.”

Zitao doesn’t know what to say to that. He just stares at the darkness under Mama’s eyes in the light of the moon. He wonders what time it is, how long they’ve been wake because of him and his stupid nightmares. He hasn’t had one in a long time, one that woke his parents up in even longer. 

Calm comes slowly, tears drying up and breathing evening out as comfortable silence stretches out. 

Baba holds him the whole time. Zitao is fifteen, taller than Mama, practically an adult. If any of the guys at school saw this they’d make fun of him for weeks. He clings to Baba’s shirt anyway, clings to Mama when he offers Zitao a strange half-hug and kisses him on the forehead. And if he asks them to stay with him until he falls asleep, the guys at school don’t have to know.

“Of course, whatever you need. Do you want the lamp on or off?”

“Off,” Zitao says as he worms his way back under the covers. Mama tucks him in just like he used to when Zitao was first learning to sleep on his own.

Baba and Mama sit sideways on the end of his bed, backs pressed against the wall. Zitao stares at them and smiles as they stare right back. One of Mama’s hands loops around his ankle and holds on, warm through the blanket. “Go to sleep,” he says, “we’re right here.”

Zitao wakes up throughout the night, still a little shaken by his nightmare. The first time he wakes up, he sees Mama and Baba still sitting at the foot of his bed. Mama’s fast asleep with his head on Baba’s shoulder, and Baba’s staring right at him with watery eyes. Zitao opens his mouth, but Baba leans down and presses their foreheads together, grabs tight to one of Zitao’s hands and squeezes. 

“I would  _ never  _ leave you, Taozi. I know you can’t control your dreams, but please remember that I would never turn my back on you,” Baba’s voice shakes and Zitao thinks he feels a tear hit the pillow near his face. He thinks Baba is upset about more than just his dream.

“I know, Baba. Love you.”

“Love you too. Now get some sleep, you’re not getting out of school just because of a nightmare.”

Zitao wakes up a few more times before his alarm goes off, never more than a few seconds of opening his eyes and checking to see if his parents are still there. They are, they always are. And Baba is always awake, keeping watch through the night.

-

“Do you really think I’ll get any taller,” Kyungsoo asks. Zitao hits the brake a little too hard, question breaking the quiet of the car and making him jump. The stoplight above the four-way stop blinks at them, tells Zitao he should probably start going before the guys in the truck behind them start honking. He doesn’t really care. He’s too busy looking at Kyungsoo who’s looking out the window with a little frown.

Zitao sits up in his seat and angles the rearview mirror. He sighs as he sees the way his little brother is worrying the hem of his shirt. A nervous habit he never really outgrew. “Why do you ask?”

Kyungsoo shrugs but stares out the window a little harder, eyebrows pulling together. Mama says he looks Baba when he does it. Zitao can see it and he smiles a little to himself before reaching back and swatting Kyungsoo’s knee. Kyungsoo gives a little kick at his hand and Zitao pulls back before he ends up with another accidentally broken finger – Uncle Yixing said that next time he or Kyungsoo hurt themselves play-fighting they’re going to have to let it heal the normal way. In the rearview mirror, Kyungsoo’s frown lightens up.

The driver behind them slams on the horn and Zitao spits out a curse in Chinese that makes Kyungsoo gasp. He doesn’t know as much as Zitao, spent more time with Uncle Chanyeol than Uncle Yixing or Uncle Luhan, but he knows enough to know that Mama and Baba would be  _ pissed  _ if they heard him.

Zitao knows his little brother enough to know that Mama and Baba will never know what he just said. He and Kyungsoo are shitty liars; Mama and Baba raised them to be honest, but they didn’t raise them to be snitches.

“You know you can tell me anything,” Zitao says as he hits the gas and leaves the truck in the distance. “I won’t even tell Mama or Baba.”

“Promise you won’t tell?”

Zitao grins. “Scout’s honor. You know I can keep a secret.”

The secrets Zitao has running around in his brain could fill a library, though most of them aren’t Kyungsoo’s. One of their fathers faced down a group of demon hunters and broke the city’s water main to save their other father, who is a demon that was sealed away in their house for like sixty years. Zitao was also sealed in the house for a good thirty years as a ghost because his biological mother tried to use him as a sacrifice for a ceremony he still doesn’t know the purpose of. He doesn’t see the harm in keeping one more secret if it means Kyungsoo will stop looking so sad.

And if the secret is one that’s dangerous, one that really needs to come out, it will.

Mama figured out it was Baba disconnecting the doorbell all those years ago, not a mouse chewing through the wiring, and realized that he wasn’t the only one struggling to cope with the Hunter Incident. Zitao accidentally overheard Baekhyun tell his parents that he had light shining out from his chest, connecting him to a demon forever, and then it didn’t matter when no one asked him to be their valentine or date to the dance because he knew there was someone out there that would  _ always  _ think he’s cool.

Zitao pulls up to the middle school before Kyungsoo can gather up the nerve to talk. He looks back in the rearview mirror and can almost see him psyching himself up, finding the exact words he needs. He opens his mouth just as Zitao puts the car in park and Zitao considers throwing it in reverse and driving around the neighborhood until Kyungsoo can get the words out.

But Mama trusted him to drop Kyungsoo off at the middle school for his field trip, so he just turns the car off and stares at Kyungsoo in the rearview mirror. 

He watches as Kyungsoo looks out the other back window to where all kids in his grade are gathering near the bus. He recognizes a few of them, the ones that come over some weekends and hog the Switch. He thinks they’re kind of annoying, but they’re nice to Kyungsoo and that makes them okay.

The sixth-graders are there too. It’s supposed to be some sort of transition from fifth to sixth grade, having the sixth-graders talk about what middle school is like and encourage friendship between grades. Zitao remembers the sixth-graders from his year and clenches his fist around the steering wheel. “If anyone bothers you –”

“I’ll be okay,” Kyungsoo says. Even though he’s managed to tug a thread loose on the hem of his shirt with one hand is white-knuckled one of his backpack straps with the other. “I’m fine.”

Zitao nods. “I know. You’re always fine.” Then he sees a sixth-grader try to trip Kyungsoo’s friend Wendy and has to take a few deep breaths so he doesn’t do something stupid like throw a twelve-year-old into the industrial-sized dumpster near the gym. In the rearview mirror, Kyungsoo winces. “But if you’re not fine, you have my number. My study hall is at eleven and I’m okay with getting grounded.”

Kyungsoo smiles. “Thanks, Tao.” The grip on his backpack loosens and his fingers drop away from the hem of his shirt. He gets out of the car with a little wave and Zitao watches him walk away, head down as he heads straight for Wendy and his little group of friends. 

Zitao knows he should start the car up again and drive himself to school before the clock ticks any closer to him being late. He reaches for the keys and then something makes him pause. Mama and Baba will be pissed if they find out he’s late for school, especially since the high school is less than a mile from the middle school. He’ll have literally no excuse; Baba might even take the keys for all of next week and make him take the bus to school to teach him about punctuality. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Still, he doesn’t want to leave just yet. His leg bounces and he bites at the inside of his cheek. He looks over to where Kyungsoo is huddled with his friends, a group of sixth-graders and a few of the ‘cool’ fifth-graders Kyungsoo talks about sometimes standing a few feet away and sneaking glances that make Zitao’s jaw clench. 

One of them points at Kyungsoo, another puts two fingers close together like they’re measuring something. The group throws their heads back and laughs. Kyungsoo hears them. Zitao can hear them all the way out in the car so he knows Kyungsoo has to hear him. But his little brother doesn’t do anything but flinch and draw his shoulders up to his ears. One hand goes for the hem of his shirt and Zitao has to bite down on his lip until he tastes blood so he doesn’t taste rage instead.

Zitao should go. He’s going to be late; he’s going to beat up a twelve-year-old. He leans back in his seat and rolls the windows down instead. 

He’s the only car left nearby and some of the kids are noticing, but Ms. Andrews knows him, knows Mama, and just pats Kyungsoo on the shoulder and gives Zitao a wave like that will make him feel comfortable enough to drive away. He shakes his head and points to the bus. Ms. Andrews rolls her eyes the way she did when Zitao was in her class in fifth grade and brought in Baba for show-and-tell, a little exasperated but fond.

A few more minutes pass of the group of fifth- and sixth-graders making fun of Kyungsoo behind his back. It makes Zitao want to text Mama, Baba,  _ Uncle Chanyeol _ , someone not afraid to come down to the school and raise hell. But Kyungsoo wouldn’t want him to, probably wants to handle the whole thing on his own without making a scene, so Zitao just watches and promises himself to buy his little brother ice cream on the way home.

Kyungsoo walks towards the busses when the teachers start waving their arms and separating kids into groups for the field trip. He waves a quick goodbye as he steps onto his bus and Zitao restarts the car. If he’s quick and doesn’t stop by his locker, he won’t even be counted late for first period.

And then one of the sixth-graders grabs Kyungsoo by the backpack as they’re walking by and  _ yanks _ . Kyungsoo falls from the bus steps and hits the ground hard enough for Zitao to hear.

“Mama,” Zitao says into his phone as he’s stepping out of the car, fingers dialing on autopilot.

“ _ Tao? Is everything alright? Did you drop Soo off? _ ”

Zitao stalks across the parking lot. He’s going to be in so much fucking trouble for this, but he doesn’t really care. Baba told him when they first got Kyungsoo that it’s his job as a big brother to protect him and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. Good thing the dumpster’s so close by.

“I’m going to get detention, but I want you to know that it is for a  _ very  _ good reason.”

-

Standing in the middle of his new dorm, staring at the empty white walls covered in paint so cheap some of it came off on Mama's back when he leaned against it, Zitao feels the realization that he's in college hit him like a freight train. Mama and Baba are bickering up on his bed now, setting up plastic between it and the wall so no paint gets on his sheets or pillows. 

His bed at home has been stripped of its sheets because he needed them for this bed. His room is cleaner than it has ever been before because his parents  _ refused  _ to let him leave it dirty for the next three to four months. He knows that Mama or Baba will put new sheets on his bed soon, that Kyungsoo will probably take over his room until he comes back for a weekend and make a mess out of it all over again. But it's not the same - it'll never be the same again.

Baba lofted Zitao's new bed up high enough that Kyungsoo can stand up in the space underneath. It's a neat little cave down there, and Zitao thinks it'll be a perfect place to study and rest once it's all set up. A perfect place for Kyungsoo to sleep when he visits.

Zitao fits himself into that space and stacks folded up blankets in a corner. He'd folded all the blankets earlier that morning to make unpacking easier, but he folds them all again just to give his hands something to do. If he keeps busy, he won't have time to think about how he's leaving the house he spent nearly three-fourths of a century in behind.

Once the last blanket has been stacked, he settles in the beanbag chair he doesn't remember packing.  _ Junmyeon Kim  _ is written in faded sharpie on the tag and Zitao smiles. He wonders what Mama looked like when he was Zitao's age, sitting in this chair and doing homework. He wonders if Uncle Minseok has a matching bean bag chair of his own.

Zitao watches Kyungsoo arrange picture frames on his nightstand. There’s one of the two of them together at Kyungsoo's last birthday, faces covered in frosting from a cake fight no one admits to starting, front and center, all the others placed around it like afterthoughts. 

Zitao sighs and gives a little half-smile at the way Kyungsoo wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. Zitao's pretty sure that's actually  _ his _ jacket, one he'd mostly grown out of but loved too much to pass it on to his little brother just yet. 

Whoever's it was originally, it's Kyungsoo's now. 

Zitao remembers thinking that Mama and Baba would be the ones he'd have to comfort during his transition to college. And they'd both cried at his graduation, taken approximately a million photos of him walking up to get his degree, another million at his graduation party. Zitao knows Baba's been on the verge of tears since they left the house that morning and drove the six hours to campus, but his parents are keeping it together much better than he expected them to.

"Soo." Kyungsoo turns and Zitao's chest tightens up at the tear-tracks running down his face. Zitao'd been so worried about Mama and Baba that he'd forgotten to worry about Kyungsoo. He opens his arms and smiles when Kyungsoo falls into the hug easily. 

He wonders how he ever could've forgotten about his little brother. His best friend.

He can hear Kyungsoo sniffling. It's quiet, like he's biting down on his lip to muffle the sounds. The quiet bickering above is silent now. Zitao can see Mama and Baba's reflections in the mirrors on his closet doors though, watching him and Kyungsoo with soft, sad eyes. 

Zitao pretends they're not watching and squeezes Kyungsoo a little tighter. He's never been ashamed of showing affection, not with Kyungsoo, but he wants this moment to be private. He doesn't want anyone to see that he's sad too.

Kyungsoo hiccups, "Why can't you live at home, TaoTao?" It's the most he's said all day, mostly staring out the car window and answering questions in as few syllables as he could. "I'm gonna be so lonely without you." 

"Lonely? You won't be lonely, Soo. Mama and Baba aren't going anywhere. They'll probably be all over you now that you're the only baby in the house. And you've still got all our uncles and all your friends at school."

"But none of them are my best friend – you are." Kyungsoo whispers. "And now you're leaving and you're gonna make new friends your own age and forget about me."

All the air rushes out of Zitao at once. He tries to turn it into a scoff, but it sounds too much like a sob even to his own ears. "Forget about you? I could never, not in a million years."

Zitao still remembers the day he first saw Kyungsoo, so small and fragile in Baba's arms, and thinking that he was cute even if he looked like a lizard. He remembers holding Kyungsoo for the first time. He remembers Baba looking him in the eye and explaining what it meant to be a big brother; Zitao had to protect Kyungsoo, but he'd get a best friend in return. 

Most of Zitao's favorite memories from eight-years-old on included Kyungsoo in some way as they got themselves in as much trouble as humanly possible. No one else in the entire world will go along with his stupid ideas like Kyungsoo does.

"You're my best friend too. Doesn't matter who I meet while I'm here, no one will ever be cooler than you. Won't even come close," Zitao's voice cracks, but he doesn't care. He wants Kyungsoo to know _how much_ he means this. How much Kyungsoo means to him. "So don't cry, just make sure to come visit soon so that _I_ don't get lonely up here all by myself, okay?"

Kyungsoo nods, face serious and determined in the mirror. He dries his tears and Zitao grins as he pulls away, even though he realizes there’s a scarily good chance that he’ll actually need Kyungsoo to come visit him so he doesn’t get too lonely. 

Mama and Baba start bickering again, arguing about the best way to stop the cheap paint dust from getting all over Zitao’s stuff and giving him an upper respiratory infection. “The plastic isn’t working, Yifan! And I don’t like the idea of Tao sleeping with this stuff so close to his face either.” 

Zitao’s pretty sure he’s not going to get an upper respiratory infection, or bronchitis, or pneumonia, or any of the diseases they’re tossing back and forth. The university would’ve been sued if the paint they used was  _ that  _ cheap. But the pile of paint dust falling down from where Kyungsoo is rubbing his hand against the wall next to Zitao’s new desk makes him a little nauseous.

“I think I might have an idea,” Baba says with a little smile. Zitao watches the reflection of his parents in the mirror. Baba drops the plastic sheet he’d been holding onto the floor and scoots across the mattress to where Mama is frowning at the paint dust on his fingers. He leans his head on Mama’s shoulder, lips moving quickly and voice soft enough that Zitao can’t hear what he says.

“Yifan,” Mama laughs, “you’re ridiculous.” His face turns pink and Zitao feels a wave of disgust wash over him. He knows it’s a good thing that his parents are still all over each other when they find the time, but he hates having to see it. At least Kyungsoo isn’t paying attention. 

Baba just grins. “Ridiculously in love with you.” Zitao gags, doubling over and tipping onto the floor. Kyungsoo looks away from his quickly growing mountain of dust and giggles at him. A pillow comes flying down from the bed to hit him in the face; he laughs and bats it away, only for another one to come down and hit him twice as hard. “Do we have a deal, darling?”

Mama nods and Baba’s eyes start to glow. “Kyungsoo, sweetheart, hand off the wall.” Kyungsoo pulls his hand back just as Baba snaps his fingers and all the paint in the room changes color. 

It’s barely noticeable, maybe just a shade or two lighter. Something Zitao can only see because he watched it happen. When he reaches over and drags a hand against the wall, it comes away clean, no paint dust left to worry about. 

Kyungsoo’s pile of paint dust is gone too, and Zitao knows their parents are going to hear about it for the entire drive back home.

After that, there isn’t much left for them to do. All the boxes are unpacked and all of Zitao’s stuff is as neat and orderly as it can be until his roommate arrives and they decide how to share the space in the middle of the room. There isn’t much of a reason for his family to stay.

He walks them out to the parking garage. The elevator ride up to their level is quiet, heavy in a way that makes Zitao want to fidget. But he doesn’t, he can’t, not with Kyungsoo clinging to him the way he is. He just watches the numbers on the elevator tick higher and higher and tries not to think about the fact that he’s going to be alone on the ride back down. 

“So,” Baba starts. He’s got the car keys out, but he hands them to Mama and reaches for Zitao instead. Zitao meets him halfway and gives a weak, wet laugh when he’s squeezed hard enough to lift his feet up off the ground. Baba’s hugs are warm like a furnace and tight enough to make it a little hard to breathe.

It feels just as good as it did when he was five.

“My Taozi. I always wanted you to grow up, but now that you have I almost want you to go back to being little.” Baba sighs and Zitao tucks his face against his shoulder. The fabric dampens under his cheek. Zitao lets Baba sway them from side to side. 

It reminds him of all the times they sang and danced when it was just them, drifting through the years together inside the house. Those were good times, Zitao standing on Baba’s feet as they waltzed from room to room. He doesn’t ever want to forget them – he  _ won’t _ . “Love you,” he whispers, “If…if I want to come home on weekends that aren’t long weekends or holidays or anything, is that okay? Will you come get me?”

Baba laughs, “I’d come get you every weekend if you asked me to. I know you thought Junmyeon would be the clingy one, but it’s definitely me. I just love you too much.”

“Oh, love, we all knew you would be the clingy one,” Mama says. Zitao nods and laughs as Baba sputters protests that fall apart because he’s still holding onto Zitao like he never wants to let go. But he does, eventually, because Mama and Kyungsoo are waiting for their own hugs and goodbyes. 

As he pulls out of his father’s arms, he tries to remind himself that this isn’t the last time he’ll see him. This isn’t the last hug forever, just for a few weeks. It seems like forever from where he’s standing though. 

Zitao still isn’t used to having to look down at Mama. He’s been taller than him for a while, but it’s still a little weird to not have to crane his head back to look his parents in the eye. Mama doesn’t seem to mind at all though, just wraps him in a hug and guides his head to rest on his shoulder with a gentle hand on the back of his neck. 

“I’m going to miss you.” It’s all Mama says. It’s all he needs to say. They’d said their goodbyes the night before, cried as they went through Zitao’s things to figure out what he wanted to take to college with him. They found Zitao’s old wooden toy car in the back of his closet, hidden underneath the ridiculous number of stuffed pandas he’d accumulated until his fourteenth birthday when Baba decided he had more than enough.

Uncle Luhan got him a massive stuffed panda for Christmas that year just to be a dick.

“I’ll miss you too. Love you, Mama.” 

Zitao pulls his head back and laughs as Mama immediately goes to wipe away his tears, smiling fondly. “Don’t cry, TaoTao, college can become some of the best years of your life if you let it. Just make sure to call us sometimes and let us know how you’re doing. I know you hate it when your father and I worry, so remind us how well you’re doing and spare us all the trouble.” Mama pauses. His eyes trace Zitao’s face like he’s trying to commit it to memory. Then he reaches up and flattens down the hair Zitao had pushed back from his forehead that morning. Mama whispers, “My little boy. I love you too, more than you’ll  _ ever  _ know. Now say goodbye to your brother, I think he’s going to miss you the most.”

Zitao pulls himself out of Mama’s arms to see Kyungsoo leaning against the car, hands shoved in his jacket’s pockets, eyes trained on the ground. He keeps them there when Zitao steps in close and holds out his arms, probably embarrassed after crying in the dorm.

“Bye,” Kyungsoo scuffs the toe of his sneakers against the ground. Zitao waits for him to say something else,  _ anything  _ else. He just fidgets in place instead. 

Mama sighs through his nose, eyes sharp the way they were when Zitao was twelve and thought caring about other people was stupid. Zitao just shrugs it off. It’s part of growing up, realizing that caring is one of the coolest things a person can do. Kyungsoo’ll figure it out eventually. “See you.”

Zitao steps back and watches as his family piles into the same car that pulled up in front of that lonely little house in a nearly empty cul-de-sac thirteen years ago. He waves as they pull away, taillights bathing him in red. 

He wonders if the strange, achy-in-his-chest tears reflect the red back at them, if they can see how much he’s going to miss them all in the rearview mirror. And then he decides he doesn’t really care if they can see it. They don’t have to, not when it’s obvious in the pictures on his nightstand, the way he’s standing and waving like an idiot instead of turning and heading back to his dorm.

The car’s just about to turn out of sight, down the ramp to the next level, when it jerks to a stop. One of the rear doors fly open and footsteps sprint back down the parking garage towards him. Zitao drops down, bruises his knees on the concrete floor, and catches his little brother in a hug that nearly crushes their air out of both of them.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Kyungsoo says, “Call all the time, okay? So I don’t miss you as much.”

Zitao nods, kisses Kyungsoo on the temple. And, for once, Kyungsoo doesn’t tell him it’s gross. “Yeah, of course I will. I’ll help you make a Discord or Skype or something and we’ll video-chat too. Love you, Soo.” He hears Kyungsoo mumble the same into the fabric of his jacket, and smiles. 

Kyungsoo runs back to the car, climbs in with one last wave, and then they’re gone. And then Zitao has officially moved off to college, all by himself.

-

Zitao climbs up onto his bed, laptop in hand. His roommate’s stuff is littered around the bed in boxes labeled in Chinese. The characters are a little strange to him because everything he knows is from Baba and his uncles and none of them ever use anything but traditional, but he still likes the sight of them. 

Han Mubo seems nice. His roommate profile said that he’s clean, quiet, and not likely to bring friends over at ass o’clock at night. Zitao hasn’t really gotten a chance to speak to him since he barged into the room, arguing with someone over the phone about how his move-in time was eight in the  _ morning,  _ not eight at  _ night.  _ He’d ran in and out of the room for thirty minutes, lugging around boxes and refusing to let Zitao help because it wasn’t his fault the university’s housing department sent him the wrong time.

Mubo’s in the bathroom now, resting since all his stuff is finally in the room. “I promise I’m not usually like this,” he yells through the paper-thin walls.

Zitao laughs. “Don’t worry about it! I’d be freaking the fuck out if I was in your place, so you’re handling it better than I would’ve. At least your ID worked to let you in the building and the RA dropped your key off here.”

The toilet flushes, the sink runs, and Zitao thanks whatever weird higher power exists for people like him that his roommate isn’t one of the freaks who doesn’t wash their hands after using the bathroom. Mubo comes out of the bathroom wiping his hands on his pants. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure RA’s aren’t supposed to even  _ have  _ resident’s keys, much less leave them with a roommate. Who knows though, this move-in has been a nightmare. Mind if I play some music while I unpack? I’ve got a speaker so you can hook your phone up to it too.”

“Go ahead,” Zitao says. “I checked out your Spotify after you messaged me about being roommates and you’ve got some pretty good playlists.”

Mubo snorts. “Ah, Spotify, the true measure of someone’s character. Have to make sure you’re not about to live with a Kidz Bop fan or something. I saw you have a playlist where it’s just  _ What’s New Pussycat  _ twenty times and one  _ It’s Not Unusual _ and realized you were the perfect roommate.”

“Oh shit,” Zitao throws his head back and laughs, “My brother and I made that and played it and nearly made our Uncle Yixing lose his fucking mind!” He can still see Uncle Yixing’s face, eye twitching even as Uncle Baekhyun was crying with laughter at his side.

Mubo barks out a laugh as well, shaking his head in what Zitao hopes is the good kind of disbelief. He turns on his speaker and starts searching for the perfect playlist.

Zitao’s own phone buzzes on the sheets next to him, the staccato Mama set up as his own special tone so he would know it’s not a text he could ignore. Baba has a special tone too. But Baba  _ hates  _ texting, prefers to just send voice messages. Kyungsoo’s special vibration is just one really long vibration that is supposed to be his phone screaming at him to answer. It’s better than Kyungsoo’s actual ringtone, which is just him screaming into the microphone.

**From: Mama**

_ Miss you already panda bear. Hope you have a good time at college. Don’t be afraid to call.  _

**To: Mama**

_ Miss you too _

_ Aren’t you supposed to be driving tho _

**From: Mama**

_ Your father cried for a little while and then decided he wanted to drive so he didn’t have to think about leaving you at your dorm. Dork.  _

_ How’s your roommate? Nice as he seemed over email? _

Zitao looks over to where Mubo’s folding and putting away his clothes, classical music floating through his speaker.

**To: Mama**

_ Yeah, he’s pretty cool so far. Just listening to music and watching him unpack _

_ I already asked if he needed help and he said no _

**From: Mama**

_ That’s my boy. _

_ Still go spend time with him, make some new friends. Your family isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. _

_ Love you <3 _

**To: Mama**

_ Love you too _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!! I finished this chapter a long time ago but never realized it had been edited...and then forgot I had finished going over the suggestions. Life comes at you fast, you know? Hahahah
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! I feel like it's rough but I'm aso my own worst critic so :/ 
> 
> There's underage drinking in this fic, so be warned!!!
> 
> And, as always, a big big big thank you to my beta, [Aarushi](https://twitter.com/Aarushi_c18)!

“Oh no,” Mubo sighs, “here he comes  _ again _ .” Zitao looks up from his reading for his English class the next morning and winces as Mubo’s head hits the table with a too-loud thud. The girls at the next table look over at the noise and Zitao shrugs. Mubo lets out a little groan of pain and Zitao gives him a gentle pat on the back of the head. “Kill me.”

“Nope. You have a car and I need you alive to drive me to the grocery store.” 

“I can bequeath you my car in my will,” Mubo raises his head enough to look Zitao in the eye. “And your dads would never let you go down for murder. So really,  _ I’d _ be doing  _ you _ a favor by letting you kill me.”

Zitao laughs and shakes his head. His parents would kick his ass if he got arrested for murder, consensual or not. And then he laughs again, because the bane of Mubo’s existence is sliding into the empty seat across from him with a big, lovesick smile. The girls at the table over are all adjusting their clothing and fixing their hair, but Qin Fen only has eyes for Mubo, has only had eyes for Mubo since the first day of their chemistry class.

Mubo had woken up late on the first day of class because their dorm building had a power outage in the middle of night and restarted his alarm clock, shutting off the alarm for his seven-thirty chemistry class. Zitao was careful to not give himself classes that started at the asscrack of dawn, but it was the only chemistry class that fit with Mubo’s schedule and Zitao had woken up seven-twenty that first morning to Mubo sprinting around their room, screaming about being late and shitty dorm building wiring.

According to Mubo, by the time he made it to class there was only one seat left in the entire lecture hall, third row from the back, six seats in. Mubo shuffled to the seat with his head down and asked the person sitting in the seventh seat if he could take pictures of the first page of their notes after class. 

Qin Fen shrugged and turned to Mubo, cracking some joke about being late on the first day, and then stopped. He stared at Mubo like he’d just pulled the sun right out of his ass and hung it in the sky. And then he offered Mubo his notes with a huge, lovesick grin.

He’s been trailing after Zitao’s roommate like a lost puppy ever since.

Qin Fen is always around. He finds Zitao and Mubo in the dining hall, the library, the gym. He saves a seat for Mubo in their chemistry class and is always studying at the bench outside Mubo’s first year English class, Mubo’s favorite Gatorade and potato chips sitting next to him. He’s everywhere and he never  _ ever  _ misses a chance to flirt with Mubo in the most cheesy, disgusting ways imaginable.

Mubo tells Zitao that he doesn’t feel harassed, just annoyed, a little worn down from the constant flirting and lack of space. In all honesty, Zitao thinks it’s kind of cute.

Zitao is also pretty sure that Qin Fen is a demon hopelessly attempting to woo his human, so maybe that is clouding his judgement a bit.

“Hey there handsome, you working on the study guide for next week’s test? We could study together if you want. Your brains and beauty with my snack fund, the perfect team.” Mubo looks three seconds away from gagging even as Qin Fen smirks, probably thinking he’s a pick-up line closer to his and Mubo’s eternity together. But Mubo  _ hates  _ this shit, thinks it’s the peak of gross and cringe.

Zitao grew up with his parents, two of the most in-love people to have ever lived, so this sort of flirting doesn’t bother him that much. It’s better than watching his fathers moon at each other over kimchi spaghetti at least.

“Hello, Qin Fen,” Mubo sighs after thirty seconds of Qin Fen staring at him like he just pulled the sun out of his ass and hung it in the sky. “Don’t you have someone else to torture? Actually, don’t you have your finance class right now?” 

And then Mubo flinches as Qin Fen breaks out into an honest, genuine, lovesick grin because Mubo has made the classic mistake of admitting that he cares enough about him to remember the things he says.

According to Zitao’s intro to psychology course, Qin Fen has just been positively reinforced for all his ridiculous, slightly stalker-ish behaviors.

According to Zitao’s experience with demons, Qin Fen has officially sunken his proverbial claws into Mubo and will only ramp up the wooing from here.

If they weren’t in public, Zitao would have to salute Mubo for his desperate scrambling to rearrange deck chairs on the metaphorical Titanic. “Forget I said anything, okay? I don’t need any help on the study guide. Go bother the girls over there and let me work in peace.”

Qin Fen pouts. “Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that! You know I take good notes.” 

Zitao pretends he’s taking notes on his reading and not watching a supernatural being roughly a quarter of a millennium old throw a hissy fit because Mubo won’t give him the attention he wants. Zitao sent his father a text last night asking about a demon by the name of Qin Fen just in case Mubo was dealing with an actual stalker; Baba said he’d never met him personally but heard of him cropping up in the early eighteenth century through Yixing.

“So do I,” Mubo presses down on his pencil a little more forcefully. “ _ And _ I know how to be quiet.”

Qin Fen scoffs, utterly offended. “I can be quiet! We’ll get done a hell of a lot faster if we work together. Teamwork makes the dream work and shit.” 

Mubo doesn’t offer up another argument this time, instead letting out a long-suffering, “Yeah, yeah, fine, whatever. These study guides are long as hell anyway. But be  _ quiet _ . I can’t talk and study at the same time.” Qin Fen nods and immediately begins unpacking his backpack with a whisper-shout of triumph. He scoots his chair around the side of the table to sit as close to Mubo as he can without getting in the way.

True to his word, Qin Fen keeps his mouth mostly shut, only asking Mubo about the blank spaces on his own study guide and offering up his notebook when Mubo gets stuck. He’s strangely organized for a man who set a campus record for fastest keg stand within the first week of classes. He has a neat little standing pencil case, a bunch of pens and pencils, and a very tiny red stapler with very tiny red staple pins.

Zitao is embarrassingly jealous—not of their budding relationship, he’s secure in the fact that there’s someone out there for him, but of the stationery. 

He has a second Instagram account only Kyungsoo knows about solely to look at stationery and cute bullet journal set-ups. He doesn’t have much stationery becuase it’s just so fucking embarrassing to be eighteen and asking his fathers for pens or washi tape on his birthday. But that little stapler has him rethinking the idea of pride, especially considering it’s not like his fathers will really care. Baba has said many times that he doesn’t care what he or Kyungsoo are interested in so long as it’s not drugs.

“Wait,” Mubo says as he looks between his and Qin Fen’s notes, “Why do you have a graph here? I don’t.”

Qin Fen looks up from his paper, brows pulled together in confusion. He scans Mubo’s notes and then his own, “Probably was something out of the boo—Oh. Oh no. Let me see that.” He snatches his notes from Mubo’s grip and goes to shove them into his backpack, only for Mubo to grab them back. “Wait, no, Mubo, don’t worry about it! Your notes are better!”

“What? What is it? What’s wrong? ‘The appearance of Mubo’s ass in relation to the different types of pants he wears’? Are you kidding me?” Qin Fen has the decency to look guilty, face turning firetruck red as he finally manages to wrestle his papers back and hide them away in his backpack. Mubo pinches the bridge of his nose and looks like he’s very close to smacking his head against the table.

Zitao thinks it is a wonderful time to print out the slides for tomorrow’s lectures and go hide out by the printers until the giant looming cloud of tension hanging over the table has dissipated.

He sends all three sets of slides to the printers on the second floor before closing his laptop, pushing his chair back from the table, and fleeing for greener, less uncomfortable pastures. Mubo calls for him, but Zitao shoves his headphones in his ears and pretends not to hear him, walking with his head down towards the stairs to the second floor. 

He keeps his head down even as he goes up the steps and walks towards the printers. He’s absorbed in his phone, scrolling through the TikToks Kyungsoo sent him the night before. Zitao laughs through his nose; his little brother has a wicked sense of humor for a sixth grader. 

He’s glad they managed to convince their fathers to get Kyungsoo an iPad last Christmas or he probably would’ve had to explain TikTok to both of them so that they’d let Kyungsoo use it on their phones. And then he’d end up getting TikToks from his parents or worse—they would start  _ making  _ TikToks.

Zitao loves both his fathers more than anything, can’t really imagine ever not having a good relationship with them, but he doesn’t think he could stomach watching them try to follow along to a dance or jump in on a trend. He’s still cringing about the time Kyungsoo taught Baba how to yeet something and then the following month where literally any time Baba asked for someone to hand him something or vice versa was accompanied by a screeched  _ yeet!  _

With his head down, Zitao isn’t looking where he’s going. He runs right into another person as they round the corner. Papers going flying like something out of a movie.

“Woah!”

“Shit, sorry!” Zitao grimaces and immediately drops to the floor to start gathering up the papers. “I’m so sorry, dude, fuck. My bad. Should’ve watched where I was going. Sorry, sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

It’s an absolute mess. Apparently the person he ran into had an entire book in their arms when he ran into them, and now the pages are scattered all over the floor. The pages are numbered, at least, but that just means that Zitao is stuck scrambling to find page forty-seven so he can shove it between pages forty-five and forty-nine. 

He slices a papercut into the webbing between his right pointer and middle fingers and spits out a swear. “Son of a bitch! God, sorry, dude. I really fucked you over.”

“It’s okay. Shit happens, man. It’s really okay. The pages are numbered, so it’s not like I’m stuck spending the next six hours putting everything back in order,” the other person laughs and gently bats Zitao’s hands away from the stack of papers they’ve amassed between them. “Here, just help me get them all together and try not to bleed on my paper.”

Zitao huffs out an awkward laugh in response. He uses his left hand to grab up the rest of the papers and hands them over, cheeks and ears feeling warm in embarrassment. “Once again, I’m really sorry. I should have been watching where I was going.”

He looks up from the papers. The man kneeling across from him on the ugly mauve library carpet has a strikingly handsome face, bright smile with lips curled at the edges. Zitao thinks he sort of resembles a cat now that he’s got a good look at him. The other man doesn’t look up until he’s got the papers settled in some sort of organized chaos.

“It’s all good,” the man trails off in the middle of his sentence, smile dropping as he stares at Zitao’s face. His mouth drops open, eyes widen, his whole face is almost wiped blank in shock. 

Zitao leans back on his heels to put some space between him and crazy-eyes, regarding the man with a little more caution than before. “You good, man?”

“Jongdae,” the man blurts out, “My name’s Jongdae.”

“Zitao. Nice to meet you. Do you, uh, need any more help with your papers?” Zitao waits for a response. When Jongdae just keeps blinking at him, he gives a half-smile and pushes himself back up to his feet, dusting off his pants to ease his nerves. “Well, good luck with whatever your papers are for. See you around, I guess.”

Jongdae nods, seemingly shaking himself out of whatever weird funk he was in, “Y-yeah, shit, sorry. You just reminded me of someone. But, yeah, thanks. I’ll just—yeah, see you around, Zitao. It was good to meet you.”

Zitao highly doubts that, but the conversation is turning stifled and uncomfortable fast and he wants out. So, he nods and gives an awkward wave before walking off towards the printers. 

He drags his fingertips along the wall as he rounds the corner to the printer hub. As they pass over the light switch, something shocks him, sharp and electric like static on steroids. He jerks back, holding his hand to his chest. He stares at the light switch, searching for a sign of loose wire. There’s nothing there though, so he just keeps walking and writes it off as static collected from kneeling on the carpet for too long. 

He is a little concerned about the smell of ozone though.

* * *

Zitao balances his laptop on his knees and opens it. He’s settled against his pillows with a bowl of grapes at his side. He squints against the bright blue light of his laptop screen as he loads up Discord, checking for a little green circle next to Kyungsoo’s icon. It’s still dark, Kyungsoo’s probably still eating dessert and watching a movie with Mama and Baba. It’s what they do every Friday night, home-baked sweets and a rotating schedule for who chooses the movie. It would’ve been his turn to pick this week.

He turns the brightness down on his laptop to minimize the glare. The other half of his room is dark and empty; Mubo left about half an hour earlier for a date with Qin Fen, threatening Zitao with a five A.M. Kidzbop wake-up call if he made a single joke about it.

Zitao still isn’t sure how in the hell Qin Fen won Mubo over so fast. He’d come back with his freshly printed notes, still smelling ozone like a storm was rolling in, and had stopped short when he saw Mubo and Qin Fen with their heads pressed together over Mubo’s study guide. They were whispering back and forth about something. Qin Fen was staring at Mubo like the sun shined out of his ass, as usual. What was strange was that Mubo didn’t seem to mind, taking the snacks Qin Fen offered with a soft  _ Thanks  _ and even giving Qin Fen his number when the demon finally said he had to go.

When Zitao questioned Mubo on precisely what the fuck had happened, Mubo explained that Qin Fen confessed his huge, all-consuming crush and asked for one date to try and win him over. Mubo agreed on the condition that after the date Qin Fen would leave him alone if,  _ when,  _ they decided they weren’t compatible. 

They went on their date that weekend, Mubo absolutely convinced that would be the end of his Qin Fen issue.

Tonight is their fourth date, so, obviously, that didn’t happen. 

Mubo slipped up and called Qin Fen his boyfriend last week while talking to some sorority girls at the big welcoming event for the biology department. Zitao knew early on that his roommate didn’t stand much of a chance against Qin Fen, but he didn’t think Mubo’d be won over  _ that _ fast.

Zitao shoves his thoughts about how disgusting Mubo and Qin Fen are, sharing little looks and smiles at each other when they think the other isn’t looking because the little circle next to Kyungsoo’s icon turns green. 

**From: Ksoo**

_ hey _

**From: Ztao**

_ hey soo _

_ u ready to vc? _

**From: Ksoo**

_ yeah can mama and baba join later? _

_ i think theyre sorta jealous that we vc so much _

**From: Ztao**

_ i mean i facetime with them at least once a week but yeah of course lol _

_ i know you said you wanted to talk abt some stuff so u can go get them after that. sound good? _

**From: Ksoo**

_ okie dokie _

“Hey!” Zitao smiles as Kyungsoo’s face pops up on his screen, chocolate smeared along the corner of his mouth and his thick, coke-bottle glasses perched on his nose. He squints at the camera for a moment and breaks out into a big grin.

“TaoTao,” Kyungsoo leans in close to the camera, so close that Zitao can see the bits of dinner still stuck between his teeth. “I missed you! Is your roommate there? Is that weirdo still bothering him? Hi, Mubo!”

Zitao laughs. “Nah, he’s on a date. But I’ll tell him you said hi when he gets back.” Mubo won Kyungsoo over two video chats ago with some well-placed insight about Kyungsoo’s favorite cooking show’s latest season finale. And he called Kyungsoo very cute, complimenting him on his glasses and his stuffed animal collection. Now, Zitao’s little brother asks about Mubo at every video call or voice chat—sometimes Zitao feels just a  _ little  _ jealous.

But it’s hard to feel jealous when Kyungsoo shrugs and settles back in his seat, “Okay. I hope Qin Fen isn’t being so creepy anymore. I really miss you, Tao. When are you coming back home? Don’t you guys get long weekends in college too?” 

“Yeah, but not as many as you do. I’m keeping my eye on the calendar, okay? I told you I’d be gone a lot during the semester, but I get a whole month off for Christmas! I get to come home for Thanksgiving and I’ll try to make it for Halloween too. And I miss you too, Soo.” Zitao sighs. He stares at the image of his little brother through his computer screen and realizes that it’s a poor substitute for the real thing. 

He’s still so used to Kyungsoo coming into his room nearly every single day. He would flop facedown on Zitao’s bed and tell him all about his day. Most days, Kyungsoo would end up asking for help with his homework once he ran out of stuff to talk about. Not because he really needed it, the really hard stuff went to Mama and Baba and their combined centuries of knowledge, but because he just wanted an excuse to hang out for a little while longer. 

Going from spending most afternoons annoying the shit out of each other to clawing out time to catch up once every week or two has been fucking  _ hard. _

Zitao feels like a horrible big brother more often than not, hearing about all the crap Kyungsoo’s classmates are pulling on him days, sometimes weeks after it happens. And if it’s this hard for Zitao, he can only imagine how Kyungsoo feels. 

“But what did you wanna talk about,” he asks. “Mama says you’ve been acting kinda weird the past few days. Something happen at school?”

Kyungsoo shrugs. He looks down at his lap and sighs through his nose. Zitao shakes his head. Kyungsoo’s never been good at hiding when something’s bothering him. He’s had the same tells since he was a toddler and felt guilty about eating cookies before dinner even after Baba told him to wait until dessert. Zitao can’t say much though; Baba can tell when he’s just  _ thinking  _ about lying. Their parents raised some horrible liars.

“Soo? What happened? Something bad?”

Soft static buzzes over the line as Kyungsoo chews on his bottom lip. Zitao waits. He always waits. When it comes to Kyungsoo, it’s all about waiting.

“Jeremy dumped my lunch in the trash and I found a bunch of notes in my locker say-saying that our dads are homos and that I’m a-a f...a really bad word too,” Kyungsoo rests his head on his arms and lets out a watery laugh. “It’s so stupid because like our entire family is gay and I think I like boys too, so they’re right but they’re just so _ mean.  _ It feels like I can’t win, TaoTao. I’m too short and I’m too girly and I’m too gay. I’m too quiet so I’m a weirdo but then if I’m laughing with Wendy then I’m too loud and super annoying.”

Zitao gasps softly and almost tries to reach through the screen to hug him. He hates this distance, how he can’t actually offer Kyungsoo any comfort. All he can do is talk and listen and not  _ do  _ anything to help. “Oh, Soo, have you told anyone else? Mama? Baba? Chanyeol?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. Zitao sighs, because of course not. Kyungsoo never tells anyone anything unless he’s backed into a corner. 

“You have to tell them. They can help you.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head again, vigorously, emphatically, “No! Because if I tell them, then they’ll tell the teachers or the principal and it’ll be this whole big thing and everyone will think I’m a freakin’ baby who runs to their parents! I can deal with it. They’ll get bored of me eventually, right?”

Zitao wonders if he was this stubborn and stupid when he was in middle school. Stupid, probably so, but not stubborn. No one digs their heels in like Kyungsoo; he once got his bedtime moved back half an hour so he could watch reruns of this old anime by refusing to sleep for two days. Mama and Baba were happy to record the episodes for him to watch in the morning or, better yet, buy the entire show on DVD because he loved it so much. But Kyungsoo got it in his head that he  _ had  _ to stay up later, and so he didn’t stop until he got his way. 

Sometimes, Zitao fears just how much willpower his little brother holds in his compact little frame.

“You  _ have  _ to tell them,” Zitao repeats. 

Kyungsoo’s jaw sets in determination, brows furrowing as he shakes his head once more.  _ “No.”  _

Zitao knows better than to start a power struggle. That’s a mistake for Mama and Baba to make. He knows he can’t outlast Kyungsoo, he’s nowhere near as stubborn, but he has tricks for getting his way too—ultimatums and subtle emotional manipulation. “Either you tell them or I will.”

His little brother’s mouth drops open, eyes going wide in shocked betrayal. “You wouldn’t! You’d be breaking the code! You know, the one where we don't’ snitch on each other to Mama and Baba!”

Shrugging, Zitao raises his eyebrows in challenge, “Try me, dude. The code doesn’t apply to dangerous situations. Section C—the Wasp Nest clause.”

There was an old wasp nest out in their backyard when they were younger. Mama told them to never go near it because he wasn’t sure if there were any wasps still living inside. Kyungsoo and Zitao had already agreed to never tattle on each other after the time Kyungsoo broke into the stash of Baba’s favorite candies and they both got punished, Kyungsoo for taking without permission and Zitao for eating the stolen goods and then tattling to try and get his little brother in trouble. But when some of Zitao’s friends came over and dared him to poke the wasp’s nest with a stick, Kyungsoo went screaming to Mama, who managed to get to Zitao before he disturbed what turned out to be a nest of yellowjackets. 

Zitao was  _ pissed  _ until he found out how bad wasp stings hurt. Then, they added an amendment to their agreement that they could tattle if they thought the other person was really going to get themselves hurt or hurt someone else.

Kyungsoo is  _ pissed  _ now. If looks could kill, Zitao is pretty sure he’d be a skeleton six feet under. Kyungsoo’s eyes are watering, the big tears he only cries when he’s so mad he could just explode. He wipes roughly at his face with his sleeves, “That’s not fair, Zitao! I’m not in any danger. No one’s pushing me or anything, it’s just words!”

“Those words are hurting you a hell of a lot,” Zitao blinks slowly, staring at the video that’s gone grainy because Kyungsoo turned out his desk lamp so Zitao can’t see him cry. “You think I  _ want  _ to go over your head for this? Tell our parents when we both know they’re gonna go nuclear? No! But I have to because I’m not there to help you this time. I mean, I’m here for you. I’m always here for you, but I can’t just toss your bullies in a dumpster anymore. I’m eighteen now. It’d be considered assault. 

“And besides, I could make your bullies stop for a little while, but Mama and Baba won’t stop until that shit is over for good. They wanna help you, Soo. They know something is wrong, and they want to be there for you, but they’re not gonna push because they know you hate being rushed. So you have to tell them and let them fix it. That’s what parents do, you know. They fix things.” Zitao rests his cheek against his fist as Kyungsoo sniffles softly through his laptop’s speakers. 

“I just want them to leave me alone, TaoTao. I’ve never done anything to them, so why do they keep bothering me?” The lighting is too dark for Zitao to see much, but he can hear his little brother stifling hiccups and biting down on his sleeve so he doesn’t sob.

Zitao wishes he knew. He wishes he knew why pre-teens and teenagers are so fucking horrible to each other. He remembers the shit he went through in high school, mostly a bunch of racist crap because he was the only Asian kid in the entire school. It didn’t last long because K-pop became a huge thing one summer and then being Asian was the coolest shit ever. Zitao was suddenly super popular because he spoke Mandarin  _ and  _ Korean and knew what all the songs were about.

Being short and the child of two men doesn’t look like it’s going to become trendy anytime soon though, so Kyungsoo’s out of luck.

“I don’t know. I really, really wish I did, but I don’t.” Zitao heaves out a big sigh. “But I know that our dads would do whatever it took to make the bullies leave you alone if you told them what was happening. You might think you’re hiding it well, but Mama and Baba have been asking me about what’s going on with you lately. I  _ will  _ tell them if you don’t.”

Kyungsoo nods. He turns his desk lamp back on and Zitao’s heart twists at the red, blotchy face, tear tracks running down his cheeks. “I know. I’ll tell them tomorrow.” Kyungsoo pauses, “Can we Facetime on Mama’s phone when I do? So that you’re there too?”

Zitao smiles, “Of course! Just let me know when. And I’ll make sure they don’t go straight to any nuclear options, okay? They’ll understand if you want things low-key at first.”

The tension passes after that. Kyungsoo smiles and he sits up straighter, like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. “Can we play some video games for a little while and then I’ll go get Mama and Baba so they can say hi? Baba’s been kinda weepy, going into your room and just sitting up there.”

“Yeah, sounds good? Wanna work on our farm in  _ Stardew?”  _ Kyungsoo nods and Zitao starts up the game. “So, any good news? How did your science project turn out? I heard you actually got some cool results.”

* * *

Parties are meant to be a staple of college life. TV shows and movies portray them as the end all be all of the college experience. Frat parties, sorority parties, stoner hotboxes, pre-gaming, tailgating, ragers, kickbacks, college students have so many different types of parties Zitao wouldn’t be surprised if some people started majoring in party-ology, the study of parties. Even Minseok partied in college—even  _ Mama  _ mentioned heading over to frat houses and getting wasted after finals week.

So, when Sehun, Zitao’s preferred sparr partner in the self-defense class his parents insisted he take despite years of wushu, and one of the most well-known faces on campus, invites Zitao to what’s supposed to be a pretty chill sort of kickback at one of the more low-key frats on Saturday night, he feels like he  _ has  _ to go.

Mama and Baba don’t want him to go. Mama admits to being a hypocrite about it, but says that it was different for him back then, because he had Minseok and his liver of steel to look out for him.

It isn’t like Zitao is all alone though. He has Mubo, and by extension, Qin Fen and his demonic alcohol tolerance to look out for him. Mubo isn’t very big on parties, but he’s usually happy to go along with whatever Qin Fen wants to do. Still, even if he can’t manage to wrangle those two into accompanying him, Sehun has taken a solemn oath to take care of Zitao as his fledgling party animal. And Zitao promised his parents that he wouldn’t drink.

Which is precisely why Zitao finds himself white girl wasted, stumbling down the front steps of the frat house determined to go get Dairy Queen, Sehun nowhere in sight.

The party had started out as something nice and chill, just Sehun, his boyfriend Jongin, and the frat brothers from Sigma Lambda Tau. Mubo and Qin Fen showed up for about an hour. They had a few drinks, Qin Fen guarding their cups when Zitao managed to rope Mubo into a short game of Mao. Zitao didn’t know the rules, but he was staying true to his word and only drinking Hawaiian Punch out of the container in the fridge bought just for anyone who didn’t feel like getting drunk that night. 

Mubo didn’t know the rules either, and he was already a little tipsy when the game started, so it ended with him feeling comfortably drunk, giggly and just inebriated enough for Qin Fen to want to take him home.

Qin Fen had just gotten Mubo loaded into the car when four other cars pulled up to the curb and dumped their passengers, more and more people spilling into the frat house from the sidewalk. “Mingyu must’ve gotten drunk and decided it was a time for a  _ real  _ party,” he’d sighed and reached for Zitao. “Come on, I’ll stop by McDonald’s on the way to your dorm and get you guys something to eat. He’s, like, at the perfect stage of drunk to eat, go to sleep, and wake up the next morning feeling fine.”

But Zitao didn’t really  _ want  _ to go home. He wasn’t drunk, had no plans on getting drunk, but he wanted to stay and party for a little while longer. So he had told Qin Fen as much and headed back inside where Jongin and Sehun were waiting for him, music suddenly blaring through subwoofers and people filling up every inch of the spacious frat house.

He remembers the look on Qin Fen’s face, how the other man said he really didn’t want to leave Zitao there by himself. But Jongin and Sehun promised to look after him, and so Qin Fen left after telling Zitao to call if he changed his mind and wanted to go home.

The party grew exponentially after Qin Fen pulled away and another car took his place in the driveway, half the football team falling out of the backseat and charging up the front porch. 

The Hawaiian Punch in the fridge got poured out into a giant punch bowl; Zitao was told it was to make it easier for sober people to watch their drunk friends without having to disappear into the kitchen whenever they got thirsty. Zitao drank one cup that he thought tasted kind of funny, but the second cup tasted better, and so did the third after that.

Zitao had been a little nervous about mingling after Qin Fen left, but after an hour of sticking close to Sehun’s side he relaxed and found some of his classmates hanging out upstairs. He felt good, felt tingly and light, strangely confident.

He was on his fifth cup of his punch when some jerk cornered him by the empty beer pong table. Zitao doesn’t remember what the man said, just that he really didn’t like it, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He told him off, words rolling off his tongue without his control, slippery and slurred. 

The person who had him cornered  _ really  _ didn’t like that. He grabbed Zitao by the shirt and dragged him in close; his breath stank like really cheap beer and cigarette smoke and Zitao remembers feeling  _ terrified.  _ Years of martial arts came back at once and Zitao shoved the man off of him. His technique was horrible, entire body uncoordinated. The arm meant for the man’s shoulder went high and struck him in the cheek bone, the hand he’d attempted to shove between them slammed into an elbow, pain running up Zitao’s arm. 

His hand still hurts now, actually. Zitao yelps as he accidentally catches it on the railing of the porch steps. He’s never been so fucking clumsy before.

What happened after he managed to get away from the jerk at the beer pong table is all a blur of disappearing into the crowd, searching for Sehun or Jongin or anyone he could trust. 

Sehun and Jongin were nowhere to be found. No one he asked knew where they went nor could they point him in the direction of anyone who might have known where they could be found. 

Zitao searched that entire damn house until he ended up in the kitchen, standing in front of the fridge with his head stuck in the freezer because he was suddenly way too hot. He saw a tub of ice cream in the freezer and promptly forgot all about the asshole who cornered him and finding Sehun and Jongin—Zitao decided that all that mattered was ice cream.

And that’s how he ended up here, stumbling through the front lawn of a frat house at ass o’clock at night, determined to get some Dairy Queen ice cream. 

He doesn’t know where the nearest Dairy Queen is. He doesn’t even know if there  _ is  _ a Dairy Queen around here. But at this point, he’s decided he’ll get himself some ice cream or die trying. Zitao giggles at the thought of him in a history textbook, known the world over as the man who perished in pursuit of a large blizzard or hot fudge sundae. 

He’s like Jason searching for the Golden Fleece or Odysseus attempting to return home, except much less dramatic. But still a very important quest, an epic in the classical sense. “That’s what I get for being the son of a fucking million-year-old demon and a teacher. I know all about classical literature because Baba fuckin’ had regular correspondence with Plato. God, I’m such a fuckin’ nerd. My poor soulmate.”

Zitao grumbles and groans incoherently. The loose crowd gathered on the front lawn stares at him in confusion and Zitao realizes he’s talking in Mandarin. Good. Even as strange as he feels, the world melding together into a blur of a light and sound, he’s well aware that it’s better they all just think he’s some weird international student speaking in tongues and not some demon spawn. 

Not  _ literal  _ demon spawn. He’s not genetically related to either of his fathers, though he definitely shares Mama’s sweet tooth and Baba’s resting bitch face. 

Mama would probably pick him up and take him to Dairy Queen if he could. They used to have nights where they’d just go on a drive together and hang out. He misses those days and all the little snacks they’d eat after they parked on the shore of a nearby lake.

So caught up in his own jumbled thoughts, Zitao suddenly trips and lands face first in the grass a block away from the frat house. 

He rolls over onto his back with a groan, dull pain radiating through his body. It hasn’t rained in almost a full month and the ground is unforgivingly solid because of it. The world spins around him, the moon and stars in the sky above him twisting in the most nauseating kaleidoscope he’s ever seen. He has to lie very, very still, like a corpse, and take deep, gulping breaths just to keep the contents of his stomach down.

With Mama’s stories of wild college parties still floating somewhere in the back of his mind, Zitao finally figures out that he isn’t sober anymore. “Oh fuck, someone spiked the punch, didn’t they? God, I had, like, five fucking cups. I’m so fucking drunk. Oh God, oh no.”

“Hey, you okay there?”

Zitao startles and screams as a face suddenly comes into view. Then, he clutches his stomach and lets out a pitiful moan because the movement has nausea racking his body all over again.

When it finally passes and he’s able to open his eyes and get a better look at the person looming over him like a creep, he sees a pair of lips that curl up at the edges, vaguely familiar. “Jongdae, right.” he asks, “From the library? What the hell are you doing out here?” Zitao takes a deep breath as he drags a hand down his face and smells ozone. Like a storm’s rolling in even though the sky beyond Jongdae’s head is perfectly clear.

“Yeah, yeah, and you’re Zitao. I was just out for a walk. What are you doing laying in the grass at twelve-thirty at night?” Jongdae crouches down beside Zitao. He’s smiling, more than a little amused. 

“Someone spiked the Hawaiian Punch,” Zitao rubs at eyes and slowly tries to sit up. “Party...never been drunk before. Wanted ice cream, so I went to go get Dairy Queen, but now I’m here.”

Jongdae offers to help him up, but Zitao waves his hand away and shoves his head between his knees, swallowing down spit even as his jaw tightens up and starts to tingle. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Yeah, five cups of Sigma Lambda Tau punch is a lot even for some of the most experienced partiers. Might feel better once you throw up, get some of that alcohol out of your system before you get even drunker.” Jongdae rests a careful, cautious hand between his shoulder blades. “Do you have anyone looking for you?”

If anyone else asked him that, Zitao’s pretty sure he’d start to panic, drunk off his ass or not. It sounds like something a serial killer would ask a potential victim. 

“Sorry, was that creepy? I just wanted to make sure you had a way to get home. You seem like you’re having it pretty rough and I don’t like the idea of you trying to get home all alone like this,” Jongdae sounds concerned, looking around with a frown and creases forming between his eyebrows.

Zitao slurs, “I thought I did, but I haven’t seen them since before this asshole cornered me by the beer pong table. They promised my friends they’d look after me but—”

“Zitao! Tao! Zitao, where are you? God, fuck, Nini, we have to find him! They spiked the fucking punch and that’s all he was drinking the whole night.”

They both look up when they hear the shouting. Sehun and Jongin are sprinting down the sidewalk, calling Zitao’s name. Jongin seems to be flickering in and out of space, sometimes at Sehun’s side, sometimes six feet ahead of him on the sidewalk, sometimes standing in the grass in front of the different houses lining the street. 

Zitao hums softly and nods his head, drunk but not stupid. Another demon, probably Kai, considering the stories Baba and Yixing told him about a man who could appear and disappear at will. 

“He’s over here,” Jongdae yells. “Sehun, Jongin, he’s over here and he’s alright!” 

“You know them? How do you know them,” Zitao mumbles mostly to himself.

“Zitao! Fuck, we’re sorry, Zitao. We got caught up with some of my classmates.” Sehun comes to a stop a few steps away and drops onto his ass in the grass. “How are you feeling? Seungcheol told us you were looking for us and that you looked pretty fucked up.”

“They spiked the punch. Had like five cups.”

Sehun nods, grimacing. “Yeah, yeah, we heard. Sounds like they meant to have two different bowls out, one spiked and one not, but someone forgot to put the second bowl out. I’m so sorry, Tao, we should’ve been looking out for you.”

Zitao shrugs. He can feel himself slowly getting drunker as time goes on. He feels so tired now, like he could just flop onto his back and pass out right there in the grass. As is, he can barely keep his head up, resting it against his knee and letting his eyelids slip shut. “I’m so tired. Wanna sleep.”

“That’s a good idea. Give me your phone and I’ll call Qin Fen for you.” Sehun reaches out a hand but Zitao shakes his head. He grumbles about it being too late to call. “Can you give me your address so we can drive you home then?”

He doesn’t know the address of his dorm, never bothered to learn it because he could always get anything he needed shipped back home and pick it up on a long weekend or ask Mama or Baba to come visit him instead. He thinks he could direct them to the campus entrance closest to his dorm if they could get him to campus. He tells Sehun as much, half-slurred. But then he pats his pockets and realizes he left his keys and his keycard to get into his dorm in his room.

“No keys. Just leave me here. ‘S not so bad.”

“We’re not leaving you here,” Sehun laughs, “It’s our fault you’re this fucked up in the first place. We just need to figure out somewhere to let you sleep off the alcohol.”

“You can come to my apartment, if you want.” Jongdae still has his hand on Zitao’s back, rubbing in gentle circles. “It’s close to campus. You can just walk back to your dorm in the morning or ask your friend to come get you. I’ve got a guest bedroom you can sleep in.”

“Yeah,” Zitao says, nodding slowly so he doesn’t set off another wave of nausea. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

Later, when he’s had time to sober up, Zitao will wonder why Sehun and Jongin didn’t just offer to let him sleep over at their place, why they didn’t take advantage of Zitao’s drunkenness and have Jongin simply teleport him home. 

They don’t say anything as Jongdae helps Zitao to his feet and puts his arm over his shoulder to take most of his weight. Zitao’s a decidedly sleepy drunk; he ends up leaning almost entirely on Jongdae the entire walk to the car that’s parked a few streets over. Jongin offers to help load Zitao into Jongdae’s car, but that’s the most Zitao hears either of them say about a wasted Zitao going home with a man he’s met a total of two times. And Sehun and Jongin don’t even know about the run-in at the library.

There are a few moments of tense silence once Zitao is settled in the passenger seat. Jongdae, Sehun, and Jongin are all standing outside the car, staring each other down. Zitao watches them through eyes that refuse to stay open for more than a few seconds. 

His eyes close as Jongdae opens his mouth, voice too quiet for Zitao to hear through the car door. They open to Jongdae opening the driver’s side door with a smile on his face.

“Sehun said to call him if you need anything. They both have my address already, so if you ever feel uncomfortable they’ll come and get you. Though I hope I don’t make you uncomfortable,” Jongdae reaches into the backseat and fishes out a thick jacket. He throws it onto Zitao and tucks it in around his chest when he refuses to wake up enough to put it on the right way.

“Can we get Dairy Queen on the way? I’ll pay for it,” Zitao asks softly, yawning through the words. 

Jongdae laughs and nods. “Sure, no problem. But I’ll pay for it. You’re probably too blitzed to find your wallet.”

“Hell yeah! Thanks, dude, you’re pretty cool.”

Zitao opens his eyes long enough to see Jongdae reach for the radio. He swears he sees sparks jump from Jongdae’s fingers, the scent of ozone filling the car. Zitao blinks once, twice, and then blames it on being drunk, brain too busy swimming in alcohol to put the little pieces of the puzzle together.

* * *

Zitao wakes up to a blinding headache, his whole skull throbbing in pain. It’s blessedly dark, like pitch black, not a hint of light shining through his eyelids. It’s good, because if it wasn’t so dark he’s pretty sure he would be vomiting from the sheer, disorienting agony. As it is, he clutches at his head and lets out pitiful little whimpers. He rolls over to see if lying on his back will alleviate some of the pain. All it does is send a wave of nausea rolling through him.

“Oh my fucking God,” he presses the hells of his palms against his eyes and sucks in great lungfuls of air. “Oh, oh fuck, I’m never getting drunk again. Oh my God.”

He remembers the night before pretty well, can walk himself through the party and drinking the stupid fucking punch that he thought was non-alcoholic. Everything after the jerk and beer pong table is a little hazy around the edges, but he knows that he went home with Jongdae from the library and was promised Dairy Queen.

Jongdae had, in fact, bought him Dairy Queen. But it’s sitting in Jongdae’s freezer because Zitao was too tired to do anything but be herded into Jongdae’s guest room and pass out by the time they actually reached Jongdae’s apartment.

Zitao cannot  _ believe  _ he went home with a stranger, that Sehun and Jongin  _ let  _ him go home with a stranger. Jongdae probably wasn’t a stranger to them, but still. It’s one of the golden rules of taking care of drunk people—Minseok showed him the last he had in college to make sure Mama didn’t get himself killed while completely shitfaced. Don’t let the drunk person get a tattoo, don’t let the drunk person get behind the wheel of anything faster than one of the motorized carts at Walmart, don’t let the drunk person sleep on their back or stomach, and don’t let the drunk person go home with a stranger no matter how much they beg or argue.

If Zitao’s fathers find out, they might actually kill him. If Zitao’s uncles find out, they might actually kill Jongin, Sehun,  _ and  _ Jongdae. 

A knock comes from somewhere outside of the blanket cocoon Zitao rolled himself into sometime during the night. He slowly untangles himself so that he doesn't exacerbate his headache or trigger another wave of nausea. He sticks his head out, pleasantly surprised at how dark the room itself is. Jongdae mentioned blackout curtains, but Zitao never thought that they would work so well. “Y-yeah?”

“Can I come in? I heard you groaning and I’ve got some painkillers and a cup of water. Might help the headache.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” Zitao ducks his head back under the blankets as the door opens and light floods the room. Jongdae whisper-hisses out a few apologies as he closes the door behind him.

The bed dips under Jongdae’s weight as he settles on the edge of the bed. Zitao emerges from his blanket cave once more to take the offered pills and water. He downs them both in seconds and then hands the cup back. He rests his head on his folded arms and watches Jongdae through bleary eyes, eyes adjusting to the dark. “Thanks, you know, for all this. I’m sorry you got stuck taking care of some random drunk freshman you don’t know.”

Jongdae smiles at him, lips curling up. It’s cute and Zitao can’t help but find himself smiling back. “Don’t mention it. I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Sort of,” he says and gently pats Zita’s shoulder through the blankets. “Besides, you’re not the worst company to have on a Saturday night. Better than just sitting in my apartment by myself and eating instant ramen.”

“I dunno, that sounds better than getting wasted against your will and making a stranger cart your drunk ass to their apartment so that you don’t spend the night on some random frat’s front lawn.” Zitao lets out a little laugh at his own bad luck. It’s gratifying when Jongdae laughs as well.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right about that. But really, please do not feel like you’ve put some sort of burden on me. I’m happy to help.” Jongdae is an unfairly kind person. 

Zitao isn’t sure if it’s the painkillers starting to chip away at his massive migraine or the immaculate vibes Jongdae’s putting out by sitting at the edge of the bed and smiling so sweetly, but he relaxes into the blankets. “You sure?”

Jongdae nods, expression growing ever softer. “You’re good company.”

Zitao smiles, maybe a little flattered. His stomach gives a little flutter. At least he doesn’t blush.

He waits for the moment to turn awkward and uncomfortable, for Jongdae to offer to drive him home or for himself to dredge up some excuse to call an Uber and let Jongdae enjoy the rest of the weekend. It doesn’t happen. They sit in companionable silence and wait for the painkillers to kick in so that Zitao can do more than just wallow in his blanket burrito and curse the existence of mixed drinks.

When he finally manages to sit up, back to the wall, Jongdae stands, “You want some more water? I can make breakfast too, if you’d like. I don’t know what you like to eat though.”

Zitao shrugs and rubs at his eyes, yawning, “Whatever food you’re willing to feed me sounds absolutely fantastic.” His stomach growls in agreement. He rolls out of bed at its insistence and the promise of more water to soothe his cottonmouth. Jongdae tries to tell him to lie back down, but Zitao waves him off. 

He feels guilty enough about making Jongdae take care of his drunk self already, being fed breakfast in bed would just be overkill. And also too much for him to accept from a total stranger—no matter how good their vibes are or how comfortable he feels around them. 

Zitao was too drunk to notice  Jongdae’s interior decorating skills the night before. Now, as he follows his gracious host to the kitchen, wincing at the sudden influx of light into his poor, poor retinas, he has to keep his jaw from dropping in awe. 

Jongdae’s style is  _ nice.  _ Actually, it’s more than just nice, it’s like a Studio Ghibli movie, maximalism taken to the very edge of being too much. There’s so much  _ stuff.  _ The walls are covered in paintings and photographs and old maps in frames, some plants hanging from the ceiling in their cute, little macrame holders. Jongdaes’s got a lot of shelves, and all those shelves are stuffed to the brim with knick-knacks, antiques, all sorts of things that Zitao wouldn’t be able to name unless he was allowed to sit and study them for a few hours. The whole style feels very nostalgic and aged, cozy like a well-lived-in home.

It reminds him of how Baba’s study was before it became his room, of Luhan’s storage unit full of souvenirs from all his travels, of the little box Baekhyun keeps from when he first met Yixing. 

“Nice place,” Zitao breathes out. “Like really nice. Holy shit.”

Jongdae smiles, a proud, pleased turning of the corners of his mouth. “Thanks. I like to collect things. It’s always been a hobby of mine. They’re all little reminders of different memories, you know?”

“You’ve got a lot of memories then.” Jongdae laughs a secretive laugh that sounds way too familiar to Zitao’s ears.

Jongdae’s kitchen is, as far as Zitao’s seen, the most minimalistic room in the apartment. That makes sense in a way though, as the knick-knacks would probably be considered fire hazards if they get too close to the stove and oven. Even then, it’s still pretty homey, all white and beige and splashes of green from the little plants Jongdae has growing in the windowsill.

“I like to grow my own herbs,” Jongdae explains when Zitao asks from his seat at the dining table. “I think it adds a nice touch to dishes. And mint keeps spiders away, or so I’ve heard. I’m not really afraid of them, I just prefer to never see them.”

Zitao snorts. He sips at his water and rests his chin on his fist. “Sounds like something my little brother would say.”

“You have a little brother?” Jongdae leans over the island with wide, earnest eyes, like he’s actually invested in what Zitao’s got to say. It’s strange, not unwelcome, but strange.

“Yeah,” Zitao nods, “Kyungsoo. I know, I know, kind of strange. But one of my dads is from Guangzhou and the other is Korean-American so it was sort of like since I already had a Chinese name my little brother should have a Korean one.” 

And that’s the partial truth. Zitao just chooses to leave out the fact that he had his name before he ever met either of his parents and that Kyungsoo was offered up in trade by a Korean woman. 

He’s very skilled at choosing his words. He has made an art out of including just enough of the truth to satisfy without offering so much that whoever is asking wants to know more. He’ll never be as good at it as his parents, but he likes to think that he’s good enough.

It seems to be good enough now. Jongdae doesn’t ask anything else, just nods to himself and straightens back up to go dig ingredients out of the fridge. “Well, I’m glad that you’re used to Korean food, because that’s all I have.”

Zitao eyes the slowly growing pile of tupperware on the counter. It reminds him a lot of home with his fathers bickering over where they put a certain tupperware in the Jenga tower that is their fridge. He wipes at eyes, shoving down the sudden emotions welling up in his chest. “Honestly, that sounds awesome right now. My parents usually go all out on Sunday morning breakfast because we usually have all my uncles over. It’s actually kind of funny, because you know how a lot of dishes in Asia can be found in multiple cultures? Sometimes my Korean uncles will argue with my Chinese uncles over where a certain food really came from. It gets pretty heated.”

Jongdae barks out a laugh. “I bet. Food is serious business, especially  _ authentic  _ food.” The fridge swings shut and Jongdae organizes the mess of tupperware, “Here, just see what you like out of the mountain of leftovers. I wasn’t expecting company so this is all I’ve got that’s ready right now. If you’re willing to wait I can make something a bit more hangover friendly.”

“No, no! You’ve literally done way too much for me already. This is more than enough.” Zitao is quick to hop out of his chair and scuttle to the counter before Jongdae decides to start making a five-course meal or something equally ridiculous. 

He’s never met anyone that’s just so  _ nice.  _ It should be a little creepy, if he’s honest, but Jongdae just looks so genuine that Zitao can’t bring himself to be weirded out. 

As he joins Jongdae at the counter, he smells ozone. But the window above Jongdae’s kitchen sink shows nothing but clear blue skies and golden sunshine.The hairs on the back of his neck stand upright. He frowns, sniffling. 

“Are you alright,” Jongdae asks. Zitao turns to look at him and is caught off guard by the sheer concern on his face. “Is the hangover that bad? I’ve never had one myself, but I’ve heard they can be debilitating.”

“How do you know Jongin and Sehun,” Zitao leans into his gut feeling that something isn’t exactly  _ wrong,  _ but it isn’t quite right either. There was absolutely no reason for Jongin and Sehun to let Zitao go with Jongdae, or for Jongdae to even offer in the first place. Zitao isn’t a pessimist, but he knows that it’s not normal for people to give so much kindness without expecting some sort of payout in return. 

Zitao has to stop himself from making sure he still has both his kidneys. He’s pretty sure he would know if he was suddenly missing an organ, but the irrational thought flies by anyway.

It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Jongdae—in fact, he trusts Jongdae way too much for someone he has consciously known for maybe two hours. 

He just doesn’t  _ understand.  _ Maybe if they were classmates, or if he’d been half-passed out on Jongdae’s lawn the night before he would understand, but this entire situation just doesn’t make sense.

Jongdae swallows, turning to face the tupperware. He clears his throat, “We’ve been friends for a while. Just met when we were younger and got along well.” Zitao narrows his eyes. Jongdae’s nervous. Zitao can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears as he tries to think.

He’s hiding something.

“How long is a while?”

“Long enough to know that any friend of theirs is a friend of mine,” Jongdae sighs. “Listen, Zitao, if you’re uncomfortable I would be happy to take you home. You had a pretty rough night last night and I don’t want to make it any worse.”

In lieu of answering, because the idea of Jongdae taking him back to his dorm is making his stomach feel queasy, Zitao looks up at one of the picture frames hanging on the kitchen wall. This particular frame has a letter inside instead of a picture. This particular letter is written in very familiar handwriting.

_ Chen, I am writing to inform you that I will be making a trip to visit the Americas within the next month. I will write to you when I have returned so that we may continue our conversation regarding Luhan’s mental state. Until that time, please send any and all letters to Lay so that you can bother him in my absence. _

_ -Kris _

Zitao blinks quickly, flashes of fireflies and falling asleep to Baba’s stories of a man named Chen who could control the storms behind his eyelids. Sparks jump from Jongdae’s fingers, so small that he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t looking for it, the smell of ozone thick in the air between them.

Zitao lets out a soft  _ huh  _ that he doesn’t elaborate on when Jongdae questions him. At least his soulmate is cute.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please leave a kudos and a comment! You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/killmeDO) and [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/killmeDO) Sometimes I talk about what I'm working on next and post snippets! I'd love to hear from you <3


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